


tough love

by canticle



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Massage, Oral Sex, akira being a dumb idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 14:55:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15665487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canticle/pseuds/canticle
Summary: Akira laughs once, a sharp noise with no trace of humor in it. “There’s no time for breaks.”There really isn’t. As nice as his bed feels, as heavy a lassitude that threatens to drown him, he doesn’t have time for this. He sits up.Ryuji shoves him back down.





	tough love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MusicalDefiance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalDefiance/gifts).



> happy birthday music!!! you are an excellent friend and a fantastic hivemind and i am so glad i managed to get this out while it was still chronologically the 12th lmao!!!

He’s so stressed that sunlight hurts. 

Not physically, really, but mentally; the glare off chrome signposts and car windows stabs straight into his eyes and joins the throbbing mess of emotions simmering in the bottom of his skull. He’s had a tension headache for the past week and a half now, flaring up and settling down at points; right now it’s at a high, and he can barely stand to feel the motion of the train car rattling and grinding its way along its track.

Akira ignores it as best he can. He’s got a lot of shit to do and barely any time left to do it in.

They’ve got Mementos targets to find— the team unity is still a little fragile, what with the aftereffects of Morgana running off to do god knows what, and there’s still some awkward air between Ryuji and Morgana that makes him keep them on separate infiltration teams. He’s got all sorts of shit to study for, exams are coming up, but he also needs to keep up with his fitness routine, he’s been slacking, and they need more lockpicks— he’s already run out, and there’s so many chests that they’ve found already in Okumura’s palace— plus he needs more money to upgrade his weapons, and Yoshida-san’s going to ask him to hold some signs in the upcoming weeks— 

He grits his teeth hard enough that it sends a stab of pain up the back of his neck and exhales hard, shifting the bag further up onto his shoulder. 

Plus. Ryuji.

He’s been neglecting his boyfriend something awful, and he knows it. Ryuji’s too nice, to sweet to push him too far, but the downcast looks and disappointed faces he makes whenever Akira brushes him off— because he has to, because some things are more important than Akira’s own happiness, more important than the best thing that’s happened to him over this whole ordeal— are getting harder and harder to deal with.

It’s a Saturday, at least. Ryuji’s going to come over and study with him, and maybe he’ll be able to catch a few minutes of exhausted snuggling before he falls asleep.

 

That’s the plan, at least, but when he turns the page in his notebook for the third time without really reading it, exhaustion clouding his gaze and frustration bowing his shoulders, Ryuji stands up from the couch with a huff. “Akira.” His voice is low, demanding attention, but Akira can’t. Can’t lift his focus. If he does he won’t get it back, and he still has a section and a half to go through, and after that he needs to drag his chair over so he can get up to the rafter— 

_ “Akira.” _ __   
_   
_ __ —  And he really should make sure that Ryuji’s doing okay with his work as well, English has never been his strong suit—

“Goddamnit. Mona, you’re gonna wanna leave.”

“Are you gonna do something gross?!”

“Prolly, yeah.” 

 

— But the lockpicks, and the smoke grenades, and really everything is just so much, all the time, he’s so tired— 

 

“Don’t have to ask me twice, I’m outta here!”

“Don’t come back tonight unless you gotta, okay?”

“ _ Please _ don’t tell me anything more, gross, ew, gross—”

 

— and Ryuji might be hungry, what time is it, it’s probably late enough that Sojiro’s gone home and he can make some curry and coffee, and maybe he’ll have enough for leftovers tomo—

— ???

It takes a hot moment to realize what’s happened, and what’s happened is that he’s been lifted up out of his chair and tossed down onto the bed. He rolls to sit upright, to stare incredulously at Ryuji, but there’s a hand on his shoulder keeping him flat.

He’s so tired the lights from above swim in hazy lines, disturbed only when Ryuji’s face comes into view. He’s wearing a very un-Ryuji-like expression— brows furrowed, mouth a thin, unhappy line— but his hands are gentle, even as they keep Akira from moving. “Dude,” he says, voice soft but severe, “I’ve been callin’ your name for the last five minutes. Did you even hear me?”

Did he? Akira frantically shuffles through the last few minutes and— no, all that’s there is the pound of his pulse in his skull and the light making his eyes ache, and the soft background hum of voices he cant understand and doesn’t care to try. “I was focused.”

“Yeah, that’s a goddamn lie. You were spacin’ out so hard you didn’t even notice when I grabbed you.”

“Hey,” Akira protests, because he  _ did _ notice. Just...not immediately. “I knew it was you.”

“So why didn’t you answer me?” Ryuji’s frown turns deeper. It’s such a look on him ,not a good one, and Akira lifts his hand to smooth it away, only catching how his fingers shake when they pass his field of view. “Goddamnit, man, when’s the last time you took a break?”

Akira laughs once, a sharp noise with no trace of humor in it. “There’s no time for breaks.”

There really isn’t. As nice as his bed feels, as heavy a lassitude that threatens to drown him, he doesn’t have time for this. He sits up.

Ryuji shoves him back down.

What? 

He sits up again, bracing himself more firmly on his elbows.

Ryuji shoves him back down.

_ What?! _

“Ryuji,” he says, but Ryuji’s free hand comes up to pap him on the cheek, sharp and chiding.

“No.” 

“No?” 

“You’re not gettin’ out of this bed for the rest of the night.” 

“Very funny,” Akira says, and moves to sit up again. This time, when Ryuji tries to push him into the mattress, he twists enough to hook his calf around Ryuji’s and yank. He loses his balance and falls just off to Akira’s side, leaving him free to sit up and scrub a hand through his hair and across his face. “I don’t have time to just lie around, Ryuji. I’ve still got six problems to do, a few lockpicks to make, a book to read—”

“For school, or just for whatever dumb shitty idea you’ve got that means you have to do everything at once?” Ryuji demands, his arms snaking around Akira’s waist and yanking him backwards. A bit of squirming gets him more than half on top of Akira, pinning his legs flat with Ryuji’s own, his hands on Akira’s shoulders. “You’re burnin’ yourself up to nothin’! Everyone sees it!” 

This is getting frustrating. He doesn’t want to hurt Ryuji— that’s one of the last things he ever,  _ ever _ wants to do. But Ryuji doesn't  _ understand. _ He doesn’t know what it’s like to be the leader, to feel like you have to balance everything on a knife’s edge, feeling like you’re walking on a tightrope flung across an endless abyss, and that one slight move will send you tumbling off into the depths. He doesn’t understand having to budget his money for weapons and medicine for the others, doesn’t get how important it is his grades stay as high as they are, he doesn’t  _ get  _ it. “Let me up,” he says, more of a growl than anything.

“No.” Ryuji’s voice is firm and implacable, and he leans over to press a kiss behind Akira’s ear. “I’m not gonna let you keep doin’ this to yourself. You might be the one who’s gonna save everyone single handedly, but I’m the one that’s gonna save  _ you. _ ”

He— what? 

The thought is so foreign that he rejects it almost before he processes it. Ryuji’s not here to take care of him, he’s here to take care of  _ Ryuji, _ to make sure his grades stay up and his skin stays intact— though he’s been doing a shit job at both of these things, he realizes with a low stab of guilt in his stomach. “You’re not—”

“I am.” He bears down a little harder on Akira’s legs. “So you might as well get to relaxin’, cause you’re not gettin’ up.” 

“Ryuji. This is ridiculous.” He shimmies a bit, glaring when Ryuji pins him harder. “Come on. This isn’t funny.”

“Ain’t nothin’ funny about this, man.”

_ “Ryuji. _ ” He manages to get his shoulders up off the mattress before Ryuji gets his hand up to shove one down, but that leaves him open enough for Akira to get his hands up and shove him back a few inches, just enough to be able to thrash in earnest. “Let me  _ up. _ ”

“I said no, Akira!” Ryuji snaps, and Akira bares his teeth as a frisson of adrenaline-fueled rage shoots through his veins, making his face heat and his vision blurry. How dare he? Who the hell does he think he is, sitting him down and telling him to chill out like he’s some sort of— fussy toddler?? Akira will show him— he jackknifes up hard enough to through Ryuji back, scrambling to get free before Ryuji reels him back in and all but  _ slams _ him down. “Goddamnit, stop effin’-- fightin’ me!  _ Jesus! _ ” 

There’s no fucking way in hell that he’s going to stay here without a fight. He twists just enough to get the hood of Ryuji’s hoodie in his mouth and yanks forward to topple him, twisting his legs to keep Ryuji’s captured between his own. 

Their tussling knocks the mattress into the wall once, twice, three times; by the end of the third Akira’s snarling, bucking up fruitlessly as Ryuji pins his hands above his head, keeps his legs flat to the bed with his own calves, and Ryuji’s glaring down at him, face flushed, teeth bared as well. “Fucking stop! What’s wrong?!” 

“What’s wrong is you won’t let! Me! Up!” Each word is punctuated with a buck upward, like he’s trying to throw Ryuji off, but Ryuji rides it out easily. “I’ve got shit! To! DO!” This time Ryuji slips off, but only barely; before Akira can take full advantage of it he’s sitting on Akira’s thighs with all his weight, preventing him from squirming, leaving him only enough room to flail fruitlessly with his legs. “Just— fucking— Ryuji— let me — for fucks sake— “ 

Ryuji doesn’t let him. Ryuji just looks down at him with confusion and dismay, and bends down very slowly to plant a kiss on Akira’s lips.

Akira bites him. Not hard, not even hard enough to leave a bruise, but he jerks back a few inches, glare going thunderous. “I’m gonna kiss you again,” he says harshly, “and if you fuckin’ bite me you’re gonna regret it.” 

“Bring it,” Akira snarls, baring all his teeth. “Just try it.” 

So Ryuji does, crushing their mouths together with less finesse than force. It’s more of a statement than it is romantic. Good. Akira doesn’t want romance right now. He doesn’t even really want this— but… it’s been weeks since they’ve been able to be this close, and as the kiss goes on his breath goes shallower, his struggling weaker, until Ryuji pulls back with a gasp and Akira goes limp.

“There,” Ryuji says, quieter, satisfied. “Much better without the teeth.”

“For you, maybe,” Akira mutters, looking up at him with eyes full of fire. “Try it again and see where it gets you.” 

Ryuji shrugs nonchalantly and leans back down. “Aight, man, if that’s what you want.”

It’s not what he wants. But it’s what Ryuji wants, and as long as Ryuji has him trapped he can at least fulfill  _ one _ of his duties— making Ryuji happy.

Or— so he thinks. But the next time Ryuji leans down with a look of anticipation in his eyes he hesitates.

Then he shifts his hips and — oh. 

Akira’s hard. Huh. Makes sense, it’s been so long since they’ve been able to just...hang out, and Ryuji’s weight on top of him feels less like an annoyance and more like a comfort the longer he sits. He doesn’t really care about it— or, he wouldn’t, if Ryuji wasn’t rocking against him with a look of concentration, if his hands weren’t still stretched all the way up above his head and pinned there. 

It feels good. Too good. More good than he wants right now, and he wants to protest, but Ryuji’s mouth is back on his, softer now, coaxing him open, slipping him tongue. Ryuji’s good at a lot of things. Kissing is one of them. He can recognize that objectively, he can distance himself from how good it feels, from how much he responds, from the tremble in his legs and the goosebumps rising along his skin.

He doesn’t chase Ryuji’s mouth when he pulls away. He  _ doesn’t. _

He doesn’t know when his eyes closed. He opens them. All he can see is Ryuji’s pleased face, red and grinning, all the anger wafted away like smoke. “That’s more like it,” he says, all low and husky like he gets when Akira’s trying to pull him to pieces. “Relax, babe. I’m gonna take such good care of you tonight.”

Akira opens his mouth to protest, and gets met with Ryuji’s mouth again instead. He’s stretched out all along the length of his body, keeping him pinned and still like a captive animal in a net. One of his hands is still holding both of Akira’s above his head, and he thinks that if he struggled now he could get himself free, but Ryuji’s other hand is slipping under his shirt, going for his belt and deftly unbuckling it, pulling it through each link with a struggle, and then— 

Then there’s a flurry of movement, Ryuji’s mouth crushing back on his own, something body-heat-warm wrapping around his wrists, and then both of Ryuji’s hands are on his sides, rolling up his shirt, his lips pressing warm against his skin, and Akira reaches down to— 

His wrists are tied. Clumsily, sloppily, held together with Akira’s own belt— he looks at it in bewilderment, but by then Ryuji’s already gotten his pants halfway down his knees, nuzzling against the bare inside of his thigh, and— 

“Ryuji,” he says, cracked and broken, unsure if it’s protest or encouragement as Ryuji’s fingers pull his waistband down, exposing him to the chilly October air, “Ryuji, I— we can’t— I have to—” 

“You have to lay there ‘n shut  _ up,  _ is what you have to do,” Ryuji tells him, and his breath is so warm his hips jerk up involuntarily, it’s been so long, he hasn’t— because Morgana was gone, and then they were so busy, but now— 

Shit. “What about— if Morgana sees,” he tries, because he  _ has _ to, he  _ has _ to protest, because he doesn’t— this is a bad— if it was  _ him _ doing stuff to  _ Ryuji _ he could justify it but it’s  _ not,  _ and it’s just time wasted on him, time that could be better spent doing anything else— 

“Gone for the night.” Ryuji trails kisses across the concavity of his hips, the slats of his ribs, the soft skin of his abdomen, and he struggles again because it’s not— they  _ can’t. _ “It’s just you ‘n me, ‘n I’m gonna keep you tied up there all night if I gotta. You’re gonna  _ relax _ and you’re gonna effin’  _ like _ it.” 

He’d argue more, but Ryuji’s mouth drops down to graze across his most sensitive bits and he makes a garbled noise instead, bound hands falling down to dig into Ryuji’s hair. The more he pushes the more Ryuji squares himself, gets sloppy with lips and tongue, and it feels so good he trembles, so good it saps the strength from his limbs, turns his frenzied squirming into shaking limbs and fingers clenching down with white-knuckled grips and— 

Ryuji makes a startled noise; usually Akira warns him when he’s close, but it creeps up on him so fast that he can’t do anything but gasp and whine and yank at Ryuji’s hair as he spills into his mouth. The aftershocks leave him limp as a wrung out sponge. He hadn’t realized how much weight and tension he’s been carrying on his shoulders until it’s vanished, leaving him lax enough he feels like his bones have melted.

There’s still a headache at the back of his skull, but the endorphins still singing sweetly through his veins tamp it down until it’s almost ignorable. Ryuji’s mouth still lavishes attention on him, working him through the last of it until he’s oversensitive, until he’s whining and shoving him off, but even then he doesn’t go far, just pulls back enough to layer kisses across his thighs and stomach. “There we go,” Ryuji says, voice low enough to be a purr. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

Akira doesn’t protest when Ryuji tucks him away; he  _ does _ protest when Ryuji pulls his pants off. “Hey, wait…” 

“Hush,” Ryuji tells him, rolling him over to rest on his stomach and shoving his shirt up all the way to his shoulders. “We’re not done.”

And his fingers dig into the meat of Akira’s shoulders.

He’s never had a massage so thorough before. Ryuji’s shoved him down onto various surfaces and gotten his fingers into his shoulders before, but this? It’s like he knows how to find every single knotted muscle in his body with pinpoint accuracy, and he’s  _ relentless  _ and  _ unstoppable _ no matter how much Akira squirms. His shoulders, the soreness along his back, the ache in his hips- all targeted and rubbed away. If he thought he was limp before, that was  _ nothing _ compared to now. Akira doesn’t think he could move if he  _ tried. _

Time goes a bit fuzzy. Ryuji’s hands are on his shoulders; Ryuji’s hands are on his hips; Ryuji’s hands are on his wrists, unbinding them, rolling him over, kissing them one by one and then tucking them down by his sides. Ryuji’s across the room, turning off the lights; Ryuji’s by the bed, pulling the blankets up over him, and there was something he wanted to do still but everything is soft and nothing hurts, and it’s been so long since he’s been able to curl up in the crook of Ryuji’s body and listen to his heart beat.

Ryuji kisses the side of his head, and Akira rouses enough strength to groan and roll over on top of him, pinning him flat; he bounces a bit when Ryuji laughs at him. “Told you I was gonna get you to relax,” he says, quiet and smug, and Akira doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore.

He can, at least, bite him on the neck though. 

“Ow, hey! Be gentle!” 

“D’nt get cocky,” Akira mumbles into his throat. “G’nna be so mad tomorrow…” 

“You can be mad tomorrow,” Ryuji says, and kisses him on the forehead. “As long as you sleep tonight.” 

And there’s not much else he can do to argue with that.


End file.
